


Dress Rehearsal

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: F/M, Pegging, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren in fishnets, a skirt, and boots (partial Hedwig costume).  Pegging.  That’s it.  That’s the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Rehearsal

It’s not right after, though a part of him wants it to be.  

She’s out with friends, and he does six things in the space of time that it would take someone else to do one or two.  He’s just about to accept an invitation to drinks when the hotel door opens—they normally have other places to crash, but the room is paid for and it’s central to their interests and why the fuck not, he’s on Broadway, man—and he’s still in a skirt, fishnets, and heels.  He’s been practicing turns and crouches and kicks because if he doesn’t keep moving he’s going to come out of his skin.

“Method,” she growls, low and somehow sweet at the same time, puts down her bag, kicks off her shoes, and exhales in satisfaction as she whips off her shirt and bra, “badass, babe.”

He’s been a vibrating, needy mess all evening, thinking about her out with her friends, in a crush of familiar bodies, thinking about her lips and her tits and the way her mouth curls around a cocktail straw and her laugh after she’s bummed the cigarette that she tries to only smoke socially now but can’t resist when she’s drinking.  But sitting there on the end of the bed with his stocking-clad legs spread wide open and the skirt stretched between them, watching her come out of the bathroom in just her panties, there is only one really solid thing on his mind.

She swoops down to kiss him and he catches her by her arms and nuzzles plaintively into the curve of her throat.  She smells like a bar, sweaty and smoky and alcohol-sharp, but the soft give of her forearms is like heaven. Something about the way she leans over him, puts her knees outside of his and presses him just an inch or two back—

“God, I want you to fuck me,” he rasps, when her knee begins rubbing up and down the inside of his thigh. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

He can feel her smile against the top of his head. “Mm, I did offer not long ago when we had that room to ourselves...”

“Please,” he says, feeling that fine line between need and desperation grow thinner, “please, I will get you off all night, I will be so good, just—roll me over and fuck me like this.”

She steps back, digging her fingers into his curls and tipping his head up. “On your knees.  Flip that skirt up for me, and wait.”

Shaking, he does as he's told, listening to her collect the strap-on that's so familiar to them both, and the lubricant and a towel from the bathroom.  The bedspread is scratchy against his knees.  The skirt tickles his torso as it falls over the small of his back.  His breathing is evening out, and yet somehow at the same time he's growing more excited by the second.  

He jolts when she kneels behind him and lets him feel the familiar drag of the silicone cock against his cheeks.  She rolls his briefs and fishnets down below his cheeks, and his cock taps his belly once it's free.  He knows that he's in for it when she slaps one cheek and then the other—but he also knows that he's been a good boy this week, knows how often he's pleased her and how much pleasure doing so has given him, and isn't surprised when his ass is barely stinging before she runs her slick cock up his crack.

“So hot like this,” she breathes, fucking his cheeks, spreading the lubricant all over his skin, letting it catch on his hole, which is already gaping hungrily for something, anything.  He's been like this all fucking night, rubbing his cock through the skirt and fishnets with his legs apart and the boots propped up in his line of view, feeling so sexy, so untethered, so deliciously free of convention.

Something in him just pops, and he fists the bedspread and arches his back and feels the biting stretch of the fishnets and the tight, heavy clasp of the boots weighing his legs down over the edge of the bed.

“Fuck me,” he whimpers, rocking himself back against her, “fuck me, fuck me.”

She slides in all at once, her fingers gripping his cheeks apart, and he feels it to his fingertips.  It's relief and pleasure and a shock all at once, and all he can do is hold on to the bed while she fucks him open.  He loves this position, but he wishes he could see—

And then he realizes the closet doors opposite the bed are mirrored, and he opens his eyes and oh, fucking fuck, her hair is flying wild around her shoulders and her tits are bouncing and that shining purple cock is jacking in and out of his ass, making his body shake and the boots jangle and his ass cheeks tremble in her hands, white and red where she's gripping him hard.

She fucks him until it hurts, fucks him through the ache, and then fucks him until his cock is dripping and he's panting and cursing and holding off because he knows she won't let him come yet.

He's also too busy watching.  She gets his attention by snapping the fishnet against his thigh.

“Don't make me do all the work,” she pants, dragging him back onto her cock.  

He whines. “Shit, fuck.”

“Move that ass.”

“Fuck!”

“You're so close. Cock's gonna be useless to me, huh?  Hope your tongue's ready to pick up the slack.”

“Oh my god.” That sounds like heaven.

“Shame you aren't in makeup,” she says, fucking him faster, harder. “Squirt all over your fucking face, smear it to hell, look so hot all fucked up and messy.”

“I'm gonna fucking come, stop.”

She slows her hips. He can't stop staring at her body in the mirror, at the fall of hair over her torso, at the tattoos stark against her skin and the way her feet curl when she pushes up into him.  Her nipples are tight and  _fuck_  he wants to touch her everywhere at once but he doesn't want her cock to slide out.

She wraps her hand around his bobbing dick. “You can come, baby.  You've got a lot of work to do before you go to sleep.”

Who the fuck needs sleep when she's there to worship?

He whines when she begins fucking him up the bed and jacking his cock at the same time. Her rhythm is perfect, her hand is tacky with dried lubricant so the friction remains borderline too dry, and that's more than enough to get him there.  His ass clenches, his balls tighten, and he feels his insides snug up around her with every pulse of come from the tip of his dick.  It's like free-fall and applause and music coming from his hands and mouth all at once, and he can't breathe.

“Fuck yes,” he says, into the bulging side of his bicep.

She stays there, petting his thighs and back and ass. “Feel good?”

“So good.”

“Next time,” she says, making him laugh and begin to fantasize all at the same time, “I'm getting this ass in full costume.”


End file.
